CHAPTER 2 - OFFICE AFFAIRS

SYLVANA

“On my knees? But what if someone were to walk in?” I asked my eyes drifting lower to his already hard cock pulsating in his jeans

“I believe you heard me the first time miss Voss…” he paused unbuckling his belt and letting his cock spring free, veiny , huge and throbbing like it's been waiting for this moment all day then he looked straight at me before whispering lowly “...I said I want the walls of the institution hear me fuck you and you screaming my name. Is that understood?”

I gasped a bit at the command at his voice and immediately nodded but he didn't take the nod for an answer, instead he tilted my chin up and I had no choice than to answer verbally

“Yes Julian, I understand.”

He smiles vaguely before rubbing his cock across my lips “now open up”

I slowly got down on my knees between his legs and parted my lips slowly, just enough for his cock to pass through… he thrusts forward into my mouth with a force that almost made me gag and jerk backwards but he gripped my hair and held me steady.

He thrusts deeper till his balls were hitting my chin as he groaned loud enough for me to hear but he didn't stop or reduce his pace, his tip hit the back of my throat every time his hips moves forward.

Few minutes past of him face fucking me like no one could just walk in here and catch him like this, then he finally let out a low, guttarel growl as I pulled his cock out of my mouth, rubbing it in his hard his it kicked and throbbed then he tore my blouse open, the button flying across the office like it meant nothing to him…

He lowered my bra exposing my breast to the cool air before finally exploding his hot cum all over me, from one nipple to the other, his breath hitching like we've gone more than 2 rounds…

The great Professor Julian Hawthorne stood before me, his chest still heaving from his own release, his trousers pooled around his ankles, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal the hard planes of his stomach and the dark trail of hair leading lower. But my eyes kept drifting down—to his cock, still half-hard and glistening, bobbing slightly with his heartbeat, the shaft slick with my arousal and his spit.

It was obscene. Beautiful. Still potent even after he'd emptied himself all over me, like he could go again immediately, like he was never truly satisfied.

And I was covered in it.

His cum painted my breasts in thick, pearly ropes, dripping down my cleavage, pooling on my nipples, marking my skin with his claim. I could feel it cooling against my overheated flesh, filthy and perfect, and some primal part of me wanted to rub it in, wear it under my clothes all day like a secret brand.

I wanted to smell like him. Taste like him. Be marked as his property.

My fingers twitched with the urge to touch it, to spread it, to play with the mess he'd made of me.

"Professor," I whispered, my voice wrecked from the face-fucking he'd given me, my throat raw and aching in the most delicious way. I gestured vaguely at my torn blouse, the buttons scattered across his office floor like discarded confetti, evidence of his impatience, his hunger. "Where am I supposed to find a new uniform? You ripped this one open."

A slow, predatory smile curved his lips, his eyes darkening as they roamed over my cum-splattered chest, my swollen lips, my disheveled hair. He reached behind him, yanking open his desk drawer with a casual arrogance that made my pussy clench around nothing, an empty ache that demanded filling.

He brought out a folded white blouse, clean and clearly kept here for exactly this purpose.

"I keep spares," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my core. "For exactly this reason. For when I ruin you. For when I make such a mess of you that you can't walk out looking like the respectable student you're supposed to be."

I took it from him, my fingers trembling, and turned away to dress. But his voice stopped me.

"Wait," he commanded. "Let me watch you clean yourself. Slowly."

I faced him, holding his gaze as I wiped his cum from my breasts with the ruined shirt. The friction made my nipples ache, hard and sensitive, and I heard him inhale sharply as I dragged the torn blouse over my shoulders, cleaning away his claim only to have him replace it with something else.

I pulled the fresh blouse over my shoulders, buttoning it with unsteady fingers, acutely aware of his eyes on every inch of exposed skin. My skirt was still hiked around my waist, my underwear soaked and useless, clinging to my swollen folds.

"Turn around," he said softly. "Let me see you."

I obeyed, presenting my back to him, feeling his gaze like a physical touch on my ass, my thighs, the damp fabric between my legs.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and I heard him moving, stepping closer, his heat radiating against my back. His hands found my hips, his thumbs tracing circles on my skin. "Do you know what you do to me? Even now, when I've had you, when I've marked you, I want you again. I want you always. It's never enough."

His hands slid around to my stomach, pulling me back against him, his cock hard and insistent against my lower back.

"Julian," I gasped, my head falling back against his shoulder. "I need to go. I have class."

"Do you?" His hand slipped lower, cupping me through my soaked underwear, making me cry out. "Or do you want to stay here and let me make you cum again? Let me feel you fall apart on my fingers one more time before you leave?"

I should have said no. I should have gathered my things and walked away, preserved some semblance of the studious, respectable student I was supposed to be.

Instead, I turned in his arms and kissed him.

It was messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue and need. He responded immediately, his hands fisting in my hair, his body crowding me back against the desk. When we finally broke apart, we were both panting, his forehead pressed to mine.

"You're going to be late," he whispered, but he was already lifting me onto the desk again, stepping between my thighs.

"I don't care," I breathed, and I didn't. Not then. Not with his hands on me, his mouth on my neck, his cock pressing against my entrance through the thin barrier of my underwear.

He teased me mercilessly, rubbing himself against me, the friction maddening, insufficient, perfect. His fingers found my clit, circling with devastating precision while his other hand gripped my breast through my fresh blouse.

"You're already so sensitive," he murmured against my ear, his breath hot. "So swollen. So ready. Tell me, Sylvana—when you walk out of here, when you sit in your next lecture, will you think of me? Will you remember how I touched you, how I claimed you, how I made you scream?"

"Yes," I sobbed, my hips chasing his hand. "God, yes, Julian, I'll think of nothing else—"

"Good," he growled, and then his fingers were inside me, curling to find that spot that made my vision blur, my back arch. "Because I'll be thinking of you. Every second. Every minute. I'll be hard and aching and remembering exactly how you look right now—disheveled, desperate, mine."

He worked me with his fingers, his thumb on my clit, his mouth on my neck, and I was already so close, so wound up from everything that had come before, that I shattered within minutes.

The orgasm crashed through me, my pussy clamping down on his invading fingers, my body convulsing as I came apart in his arms. He held me through it, his fingers moving slowly, milking every spasm, drawing out the pleasure until I was limp and trembling against him.

When I finally went still, he withdrew his hand slowly, deliberately, his fingers glistening with my arousal. I watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean, his eyes closing in apparent bliss, his groan vibrating through his chest against my cheek.

"You can go now," he said softly, his eyes dark with renewed hunger despite his words. "Before I decide to keep you here all afternoon and fuck you until you can't walk."

I stumbled out of his office, my legs like jelly, my pussy still twitching from the orgasm he'd ripped from me, my underwear soaked through, my fresh blouse already smelling like sex and him.

The hallway was blessedly empty as I made my way to my next class—Advanced Literature, three doors down. I moved toward the class, my mind fogged with sex, my body humming with residual pleasure, every step making me acutely aware of the emptiness between my legs.

"Sylvana!"

I jumped, guilt slamming through me like a physical blow. It was Mara, my roommate, falling into step beside me with a concerned frown.

"Where have you been? You missed the first twenty minutes of Mrs. Gwen's lecture. I saved you a seat, but when you didn't show—I was worried."

"I lost something," I said quickly, the lie coming easily after years of practice. "A pendant. My mother's. It was a gift. I was retracing my steps from the parking lot, looking for it. Took longer than I thought."

"Did you find it?"

"No," I said, thinking suddenly of Julian's cum drying on my skin beneath my fresh blouse, of his fingers still inside me, of the way he'd licked my arousal from his hand like I was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. "But I'll keep looking. It's important to me."

Mara accepted this with a shrug, and we slipped into the lecture hall. I opened my notebook, positioned my pen, stared at the board where Dr. Halloway was already mid-sentence about postmodern themes, my face composed, my hands steady.

But I couldn't hear a word he was saying.

All I could feel was the ghost of Julian's cock inside me—the stretch, the burn, the perfect fullness that his fingers had only partially satisfied. My pussy clenched involuntarily, remembering how he'd filled me over his desk, how he'd bent me over and taken me like I belonged to him.

I shifted in my seat, pressing my thighs together, and felt the dampness there, the evidence of what I'd done, what he'd done to me, what I desperately wanted him to do again.

My clit throbbed, sensitive and swollen, demanding attention while I kept my eyes fixed on the board, my expression neutral, studious. But beneath the desk, my free hand crept to my lap.

I pressed my palm against my skirt, applying pressure to my aching cunt, imagining it was him, his hand, his cock, his fingers digging into my hips.

*Mine*, he'd said. *Every hole. Every time.*

The thought alone sent a spike of arousal through me. I was doing this in class, surrounded by two hundred students, my friend sitting right next to me, and I was about to—

I came silently, my pussy fluttering around nothing, my breath catching in my throat, my fingers pressing hard against my skirt as the orgasm rolled through me in slow, secret waves.

When it passed, I was trembling, my underwear completely soaked, my face flushed. Mara glanced at me with concern.

"You okay? You look feverish."

"Fine," I breathed. "Just warm in here."

The lecture ended eventually, mercifully, and I gathered my things with shaking hands, desperate for air, for space. I detoured toward the library, intending to pick up a reference book I'd reserved

for my thesis, something to ground me in reality.

The library was cool and quiet. I found my book at the hold shelf and turned—

And ran straight into a hard chest.

Strong hands gripped my arms to steady me, and I looked up into Julian Hawthorne's dark, hungry eyes.

He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be looking at me like that in public, like he wanted to consume me whole.

My breath caught, but he didn't speak. He didn't need to. He simply pulled me into the narrow gap between two towering bookshelves, hidden from view by the stacks of forgotten novels.

His mouth found my neck immediately, hot and demanding, teeth grazing my pulse point.

"I've missed you," he whispered against my skin, his hands already under my skirt, finding me wet and willing. "Tell me you're still wet for me. Tell me you haven't stopped wanting it since you left my office."